A Case of Falling from Grace
by sailorgreywolf
Summary: A renovation on an old asylum reveals a supernatural affair that happened there decades earlier. They say that God sees everything, but what about the devil? Sometimes, you truly can't escape your past. RusPru, a few other pairings hinted at. Asylum AU
1. Chapter 1

The building appeared to be an old Gothic manor from the outside, with a series of buildings around it that must have been built in the time when this entire piece of land had been a plantation. The years had taken their toll on it. What had once been a gorgeous old house had fallen into complete disrepair. The wooden front doors hung loosely from their hinges. One side of the porch had rotted to the extent that the entire side sagged. Many of the shuttered windows on the upper floors were cracked.

Alfred leaned against the side of his truck and looked up at his new project. His boss had called him this morning and told him that they had a job for a private contractor. Matthew got out of the other side of the truck and went over to stand next to his brother. He looked at Alfred and said, "A gem of a clean up Arthur got us this time. This place gives me the creeps." Alfred took a handful of sunflower seeds from the bag that was sitting on the hood of his truck. He put one of the salty seeds in his mouth before saying, "Don't be a baby, Mattie. Old asylums give everyone the creeps, something to do with crazy people." When he finished speaking he spit the casing of the sunflower seed out.

Behind them, an old van pulled up. Arthur, their terse boss, opened the door and stepped out. He spoke as soon as he was out of the van, "Don't stand there gawking. We have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it. We have someone paying a lot of money for us to make this place livable again." Matthew made a small whining noise in the back of his throat and said, "Are we really this desperate?" Arthur sighed and walked around so that he was in front of the brothers. He put one hand on Alfred's shoulder and the other on Matthew's. He spoke in a clear measured voice, "I know this isn't where we would like to be working, but the economy is in a slump and we need to work. This is for a very visible client, so if we do a good job here, we will get a lot more work and we can be picky."

Alfred responded, "You worry too much. We'll get work as long as Mattie here doesn't freak out about this one." Arthur nodded and turned back to his work. He walked over to the van and pulled out a bag. From the bag he produced three ventilators and threw one to Alfred and one to Matthew. It was a precaution in case some of the building materials were off gassing. In a house this old, it was hard to say what they might find and how toxic it may be. All three of them pulled the ventilators over their faces. Arthur said, he voice muffled by the ventilator, "Alright, boys, let's go assess the damage."

They walked up the rotting steps in the front of the building, which creaked eerily as they walked up. Matthew's breath was sharp and quick. He was obviously terrified, which was actually quite unusual for him. Alfred also felt a strange heaviness in the air, as they got closer to the front door. He put it down to mustiness and dust. As Arthur pushed open one of the front doors, they were able to see inside the building.

The inside was a complete disaster zone; the stairs on the inside were broken in places. The metal bannisters were twisted and distorted. What was most shocking was a red stain down several of the stairs, which looked a bit too much like blood. Alfred shook off the idea that there was something wrong with this place. It had been an asylum, naturally strange things had happened. He turned around and saw the words over the door, "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." Alfred said under his breath, "What the Hell happened here?"

* * *

The doctor looked up at the asylum with a sense of apprehension and ran one hand nervously over the front of his shirt. The taxi driver cleared his throat and said, "Twenty dollars. Even doctors don't get free rides here." Gilbert didn't bother to be upset by the obvious ignorance, he had seen far worse. He fished out his wallet and produced a few bills. When he pulled them out, a single coin also fell out and clattered on the floor of the taxi. After handing over the fare, Gilbert leaned over and collected the wayward coin. It glimmered in the light, revealing that the coin was emblazoned with an eagle holding a swastika. The man quickly tucked it back inside his wallet, fearing that someone would see it.

He quickly grabbed his plain black briefcase, a hat and a thick overcoat. He had expected it to be colder here than it actually was, so he was carrying the coat over his arm. A half-covered sign at the front read "Autumn Hill Sanatorium", which was apparently the name of the establishment. Gilbert had been told this would be the perfect place for someone with his skills, so he had taken the job. More importantly, it would keep him out of the public eye until being noticed was safe. He took a deep breath and said to himself, "Alles ist gut. Alles werd gut sein."

His footsteps echoed off the steps as he walked up them. He met no one until he reached the front door, where he almost ran directly into an orderly. The boy looked young, his Mediterranean complexion was alight with a pure joy, "I was told you would be coming today; I hoped I would be the first to welcome you." Gilbert was taken aback by the sudden sweeping enthusiasm; he had not seen anyone with such lust for life in a long time. He had recently become accustomed to people being complacent, almost docile. The boy extended a single tanned hand, "My name is Feliciano. You can call me Feli."

Gilbert cautiously shook the hand, but didn't offer his name in exchange. He had learned to be wary of it recently since his name had such obvious Germanic origins. The Italian boy didn't seem to mind at all. He pulled out an ornate antique looking key and unlocked the front door. He seemed to have a narrative planned out and just kept speaking, "We will have a skeleton key made for you, too. The director says that we have to keep as many doors locked as possible. This place is full of the criminally insane, you have to keep your wits about you."

Inside was a kind of Bedlam, people in faded blue clothing were moving about aimlessly, guided by people dressed in white. But the numbers were low. Gilbert asked, keeping his voice quiet to hide his accent, "Where are the rest of them?" Feli responded, "They are keeping each other busy in the common room. We only keep them in their rooms all day if they misbehave." Gilbert nodded, but didn't add anything. The fewer questions he asked, the less likely it was that anyone would start asking questions about him.

He followed the Italian boy to a huge staircase on the other side of the room. On the upper floor, they reached a door that looked in much better condition than all the rest. Feli turned the knob and the door swung inwards. A smartly dressed man was sitting at the desk signing papers by hand with a fountain pen. He looked up at the two as they entered the room. The man, who looked to be in his very early 30s, had thick locks of light brown hair, which were brushed into something that resembled order. His olive complexion was tanned, as though he spent a healthy amount of time in the sun each day, and only slight grooves were appearing in his skin from age. He stood and gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk, "Please sit. I would like for us to get better acquainted. Feli, please go find your brother. I want him to come see me later." The Italian boy nodded and turned to leave.

Gilbert paid him no more attention to him; instead he walked to the chair and resolutely sat down. He fixed his eyes on the older doctor across the table. The older of the two extended his hand, "My name is Antonio Carriedo. You will be reporting directly to me during your time here. But, I like to know the men that I employ." Gilbert shook the extended hand firmly and, sensing that this time he was required to open himself up, said, "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt." The name got the reaction that he had learned to expect; the man immediately recoiled, "Please tell me you're German-American."

The albino looked up at the other and finally spoke at full volume, which allowed his accent to be heard, "I'm afraid not. I was born in Berlin." The doctor with the Spanish surname leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath, "Do you know how people would react if they knew I employed a Nazi? I run a respectable establishment. The boy you met on the way in, he and his twin come from one of the most influential Italian-American families in New York." Gilbert snapped back with a response he had prepared, "I'm 24 years old. Do the math; I was 15 years old when the war ended. There is no blood on my hands, I assure you."

The other looked around, as if searching for a solution, which would apparently appear out of the air. When he failed to find one, he said, "You do come highly recommended, so I suppose I can work to keep word out of the papers. We are a small asylum, word will get around. Did you have relatives in the Nazi party?" Gilbert scoffed and said, trying to put as much contempt possible in his voice, "I had a father, didn't I?" Antonio sighed again, this time with apparently more frustration.

He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pack of cigarettes in an immaculately shiny blue wrapper. He reached across the desk and offered Gilbert a cigarette. The German took one; it would do him some good. Finally, the older man spoke again, "I don't mean to be indelicate; I'm just trying to figure out what kind of situation I am dealing with." Gilbert took out his own lighter, which was plain silver, and lit the cigarette. He took a long pull on it before responding, exhaling smoke with each word, "If it's my Nazi father you're worried about, I can put your mind to rest. He put a gun between his teeth at the end of the war. I guess the idea of a war crimes trial was too much for him. I couldn't stay there, so I left. My little brother doesn't know where I am. He's living with his uncle." The other man now looked uncomfortable, and he struggled to find his next question.

In the silence that stretched on in the perfect sunlit room, Gilbert took another long pull from the cigarette. After seeming to struggle with himself for a while, Antonio said, "Why did you leave your brother? Surely family matters to you." Gilbert sighed and answered, "I didn't want to have to explain what happened to my father. I didn't think I was the right person to tell him. I needed to get away from it all." Antonio nodded and took a cigarette from the pack for himself.

As he lit it, the white phone on the desk started to ring. Gilbert glanced at it questioningly for the moment before Antonio finally picked up the phone. He listened with some interest as the brunette said, "What do you mean you're moving him today. We aren't prepared for it! What do you mean he's already on his way? Fine, I will do what I can." He slammed down the phone and sighed deeply, "Well, Doctor Beilschmidt, it seems that your arrival here today is ordained by some higher power. We are taking custody of a serial killer today, and I will be needing assistance."

Gilbert nodded; glad to finally be free to do something other than talk about his family. The pair of them reached out, almost at the same time and put out their hands and extinguished their cigarettes in an ashtray that was sitting on the desk. Antonio sighed as he stood up, "It will only be a matter of minutes before he gets here. Leave your things here and I will have them moved to your room later." Gilbert stood up. He thrived on having clear orders and directives, and he was glad that his superior was finally giving him orders. He left his coat and briefcase on the chair. He simply nodded to show that he understood the direction and stepped out of the way, folding his arms behind his back as he did so. Antonio took a couple steps around his desk and led the way out of the room.

As the pair of them descended the stairs, the sounds of a struggle began to rise from the road outside. Gilbert felt a sense of calm sweep over him, and it was the kind that only came with duty. He was ready to do whatever was required of him. At the bottom of the stairs, an orderly appeared holding a silver tray with a syringe sitting on it, shining against the metal like a newly polished weapon. Antonio picked it up and suddenly decided to hand it to Gilbert, "I think I can trust you to use a sedative. I want him unconscious and tied down as quickly as possible. He killed ten people with a metal pipe, I don't trust him out of restraints."

The albino nodded and took the syringe from the other and pressed lightly on the plunger to get out the air bubbles at the top of the syringe. Just outside the front door, the sound of a struggle got louder. Quite suddenly, the wooden front doors were thrown open by a pair of police officers dressed in dark uniforms. Between them they were holding a tall man, dressed in a white shirt that was speckled with what appeared to be blood. The prisoner's wrists were bound but he was able to use his very broad shoulders to make it hard for the police officers to hold onto him. The man's head was bent so far forward that his unkempt ash-blonde hair fell over his face and made it impossible to see his features.

The orderly dropped the tray he was holding and ran over to one side to assist the police officer. Gilbert subconsciously made the decision that now was the ideal time to make his move. He took a couple quick steps, completely calm and in control. He walked over to the side of the prisoner that was being restrained by a single police officer. He put the hand on the man's shoulder to steady himself. The touch seemed to trigger something in the prisoner, even though it was a relatively light touch compared to the grips of the police officers and the orderly.

Suddenly, the bound man jerked his head up and turned it towards Gilbert. The sight of violet eyes and a very distinctive jawline suddenly turned Gilbert's blood icy. A sneer curled over the prisoners lips and he said, "It's been a while, hasn't it, Herr Doctor?" The albino felt the blood drain out of his face, making him feel lightheaded. Sheer panic overwhelmed his sense of reason, and he acted quickly. He slammed the needle of the syringe, none too gently into the man's arm. His thumb simultaneously pressed in the plunger, injecting the sedative. Normally he would have carefully checked that he was injected into a vein before making the final movement. But at the moment, he did not care. All he wanted was to since that voice and close those haunting eyes.

He watched at the violet eyes fluttered shut. The man went completely limp as the sedative took effect. Antonio finally spoke, "Put him in a solitary cell and bind him." Gilbert took a step back and took a deep steadying breath. He hadn't noticed how hard he had been breathing until he finally calmed himself. Antonio walked over so that he was standing right next to the albino. He spoke directly to Gilbert, "What did he say to you? I didn't catch it." Gilbert swiftly responded, clenching his hand over the now empty syringe, "Nothing. Just insane gibberish." He suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable with this conversation and looked for any way out of it.

He said, "Do you mind if I go and check that he is properly restrained?" It was not a request that the other could reasonably deny and Gilbert knew that as he asked. As he expected, Antonio responded, "Go ahead." The albino turned and walked after the police, who had dragged the unconscious prisoner away. He finally reached the cell where orderlies had just finished binding the man to a bed.

The room was now completely empty save the albino and the tall man on the bed. He closed the door behind him when he walked into the room. Something about this man was unnerving and Gilbert needed to address it. He walked over to the head of the bed and put his hand under the unconscious man's chin. It was very possible that the quick glimpse he had gotten, the one that had so shocked him, was inaccurate. He could have imagined that he recognized it. But now, under the bright light of an exposed bulb, Gilbert knew he could not be mistaken. It was hardly possible that this could happen. The face he recognized belonged to a dead man. He had seen that man die. But this face was an exact replica of that one. There was no mistaking it; Gilbert had seen that face on a rainy night in a place called Auschwitz-Berkenau.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilbert decided that it was better not to linger in this room, looking at this man was making his stomach do flips. He walked quickly down the hallway, his mind stuck firmly on the man he had just seen and the impossibility of it all. This little asylum in upstate New York was as far as he possibly could have gotten from a war-torn corner of Poland, how could the past follow him like this? He felt a sudden shiver run through him, even as he walked, making the rhythm of his steps falter. He stopped and, taking a deep breath, finally thought to contemplate where he was going.

He knew he could go to his room, wherever that was. But, considering that he didn't know where that was; he was left with quite the dilemma. This was a big building and getting lost didn't seem wise. He could run into more unintended ghosts, and that was not something he was prepared for. He looked around the vacant hallway and started to swear under his breathe in German.

The lights strung on the wall flickered suddenly and a cold wind seemed to whip down the hallway. It carried on it an icy voice, one smooth but impossibly cold, "Is your conscious starting to hurt?" Gilbert turned and looked in the direction the wind was coming from. The cold air blew his hair back and stung his eyes. There was no one to be seen anyone else in the hall. Quickly, he turned around the other way to look at the other end of the hall. Again, he saw nothing.

"What are you doing?" the derisive voice spoke directly behind him. Gilbert turned again and found himself almost unnervingly close to a boy who looked almost precisely like the one who had greeted him at the door. But, the look on the brunette's face made it clear that this was the other twin. Still slightly shaken, he responded, "Just trying to get my bearings, that's all." The other responded with a scoff, "The look on your face says otherwise. You look like you've seen a ghost or something. I can show you to your room." As the boy turned and beckoned to him to follow, Gilbert whispered under his breathe, "I did." Thankfully, the other didn't hear him. It was not normal to see things and hear voices carried on strangely cold draughts of air, and an insane asylum was not the place to admit to hearing and seeing things that weren't actually there. He followed after the brunette, who had not felt the need to introduce himself.

They wound through a labyrinth of hallways and up a flight of stairs until they reached an ornately carved wooden door, which the brunette unlocked with a skeleton key, "This is your room." Gilbert nodded and walked into the room. The boy followed him, but abruptly left as soon as he put the key down on the table walked out again. The room seemed to absorb light. The walls were paneled in dark wood; the floor was also wood covered with a thick dark Persian rug. The furnishings were also made of the same exceptionally dark wood. The windows were completely covered by heavy red curtains that gave the entire room the feeling of being completely blocked off from the outside world. The light came from a series antique looking lamps that were retrofitted to use electricity. The only thing that was eye catching in the room was a large ornate mirror that was mounted in-between the dresser and the closet. In front of the mirror was a low table, which apparently functioned as a vanity.

Gilbert continued to look around and spotted his own briefcase and overcoat sitting next to the door, so well arranged that they looked like a still life trying to subtly convey the glory of the businessman. He decided to leave it where it was and examine the rest of the space. He soon found a door that connected to an adjoining bedroom, which contained a large bed and another mirror mounted just next to the door, facing the bed directly. Above the bed hung a single simple wooden cross.

This last piece of decoration most offended him; it seemed to presume that he even had a religion, let alone one that required him to have a cross above his head. Catholicism was something that didn't sit particularly well with him. He had seen too many priests suffer just as much as anyone else with no help from their God. He walked over to the head of the bed and reached up to take the cross off the wall. It came off the nail with only a little bit of effort, but it left a dusty cross on the wall. Gilbert took the cross out of the bedroom and over to a chest of drawers. He jerked open one of the drawers and deposited the cross in the drawer. As he put it down the cross, a splinter of the wood embedded itself in his finger.

Gilbert swore again as he felt the pain of the splinter. It was puzzling, the cross had appeared to be smooth varnished wood, but the splinted had broken off almost as if the cross was attacking him. He slammed the drawer shut, hiding the offensive object. The next order of business was to get the piece of wood out of his finger. He brought the injured finger to his mouth and was able to get the end of the splinter firmly between his teeth. He pulled slowly to get the splinter out of his finger. When he got the splinter all the way out, a small drop of blood blossomed from the wound. Gilbert took the piece of wood from between his teeth with his other hand and put the bleeding finger between his lips. When he removed the finger from his mouth, it had stopped bleeding.

Gilbert continued his examination of the room. The contents of his suitcase, which he had had delivered earlier, were already in the closet. There was one other door in the bedroom, which led to a rather claustrophobic bathroom. Having finally looked over the whole of the room, Gilbert felt a sense of relief wash over him and with it a strange sense of lethargy. His day had already been too strenuous. Suddenly laying down and closing his eyes sounded tempting. But, he had to shake it off. Now that he was here, he had things to do. He walked over to briefcase and picked it up. The bed had the most accessible space, so it was to there that he carried the briefcase.

He had been sent a few case files in advance so he could start working as soon as possible. He took three folders and laid them out on the bed. They were, as far as he could tell, fairly normal cases for criminal insanity. They had two murder charges, one with very interesting mutilation and torture, one rape charge, and one charge of arson. Gilbert had been attempting to figure out how to treat each of them effectively. He pulled out his notepad, which had "Electroshock them all!" written and underlined at the top the page.

He uncapped his sleek back ballpoint pen and placed the tip of the pen on the pad. He stared down at one of the files. The words began to swim in front of his eyes. It was strange, considering he had been running on adrenaline not more than an hour ago. But the room was warm and the bed was soft. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the sleepiness. He looked back down at one of the files. He was reading again when his vision started turning fuzzy again. His eyelids fluttered closed and he was immediately consumed by sleep.

* * *

Gilbert was standing at a familiar set of train tracks, wearing an all too familiar uniform. It was late fall and the rain was coming down in sheets. Drops of water rolled off the brim of his hat and falling to the ground and mixing with the river flowing down the dirt path. He put out a hand and felt the rain rolling down his hand. This scene was all too familiar, but this is not where he had been on this day. He turned around just in time to hear the shot clear and sharp, the same way he had heard it years ago.

The world seemed to warp around him and the scene changed. He was now standing on the muddy ground outside of the camp. His boots were slowly sinking into the mud, but that was irrelevant. His eyes were drawn to the scene in front of him. The one he already knew he would see, for the second time in his life. The SS officer was standing behind with his hand outstretched and a pistol smoking. In front, the tall body of the Russian commissar fell limply to the ground, a bullet lodged firmly in the back of his head. Gilbert had stood silently on the actual day, but now he ran forward. It was the couple steps, laden with insurrection, which he had never taken. But in this moment, he took them and ran to the body lying on the ground.

He fell to his knees in the mud, staining his immaculate uniform with the black earth. His heart was aching in his chest. He could see Ivan's back, but what he wanted to be able to see again was the face of the man, and those enchanting eyes. He grabbed the man's shoulder and turned the body over. The violet eyes stared unseeing into the sky. Suddenly Gilbert felt a hand on his shoulder, the fingers were digging into his flesh. The strength in the hand was beyond human. The voice came loud and sharp in his ear, "Look at what _you_ did."

Gilbert gasped and tried to turn his head. Another hand grabbed him by the hair and kept him facing the corpse. He spoke all the same, even facing away from the man he wanted to address, "I didn't pull the trigger. I didn't kill you, Ivan." The thickly accented voice behind him spoke, "You said the words, 'that man is no common solider'. Your words condemned me." The rain around him turned suddenly thicker, rolling down in what were now red sheets. Gilbert stared at his hands as they were covered in red liquid. The rain had turned to blood, which was now falling even harder and mixing with the earth. The smell of iron and earth rose in a stifling way. The scent filled Gilbert's nose. He tasted bile in his throat. Gilbert felt decade-old tears released from his eyes, the feeling of guilt washing over him.

The pressure on the back of his head intensified, bowing him closer to the ground. Ivan spoke again, his voice full of incomparable rage, "You know you're guilty. Now admit it." Gilbert shook his head franticly, attempting to find a way to deny it. Ivan shook the hand in the German's hair and said again, his voice actually rose this time, "Admit your guilt!" Gilbert tried to force his head back up, but only managed to increase the pain of the grip on his hair. He wanted to look away from the now bloodstained corpse in front of him, but Ivan's grip would not let him. Struggling to get the words out over the lump in his throat, he finally managed to say, "I admit it. I'm guilty." The voice behind him said simply, "Good."

The weight of the hands on him lifted and Gilbert felt a moment of relief. However, it was quickly replaced by a sense of terror as he started to slowly sink deeper into the mix of mud and blood, which had turned unbearably thick and heavy. It was as if Ivan's hands had been holding him up and now he could do nothing to stop himself from getting pulled under into the mass of bloody quick sand. He sunk steadily deeper into the blackness of the mud, his body only seeming to get heavier and more immobile. He tried to inhale and his mouth was immediately filled with a mix of dirt and blood. He looked up and got one last look at a pair of shining violet eyes before the black earth closed above him.

* * *

Gilbert jerked awake, kicking a file off the bed as he did. He looked around the room frantically before coming to the conclusion that he had been dreaming. It had all felt so vividly real though; he almost expected to look down and see blood still covering his hands and dirt underneath his nails. With a sigh of relief he finally relaxed. However, sitting on this bed felt like the wrong thing to do. He dreaded the idea that he could fall back asleep and slip into another hellish nightmare. He slowly pushed himself up and clambered off the bed. He wondered how long he had been asleep for and if anyone had missed him. It had been clear that he was not expected to work on cases his first day, so it was likely that no one had missed him.

He ran one hand over his face, which was still slightly wet. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline of the dream. He took a couple steps closer to the mirror that was facing the bed to look at himself. Gilbert saw his own face reflected on the dark backdrop of the dimly lit room. He looked terrible. His usually neatly combed hair was messy and his clothing looked as though he had been thrashing around in his sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts. He could not look shaken by the dream, or someone may notice and ask what was unnerving him. The prerequisite to having nightmares of this sort was having experiences on which to base them. Gilbert was quite certain that he didn't want to share his experiences with anyone here, or indeed, anyone at all.

He slowly reopened his eyes and as he did so, noticed that he was not alone. Standing right behind him, with a look of something like patience on his face, was the Russian he had just dreamt about. Gilbert gasped and attempted to turn around, but the Russian suddenly went from being a couple feet behind him to being so close that Gilbert could feel breathe on the back of his neck. He hadn't seen Ivan's hands move, but one was now pinning both his hands above his head against the smooth surface of the mirror. The other hand appeared, holding a knife, at his throat. Gilbert swallowed his objections, with a knife at his throat; it would be no time to speak. The man behind him was undoubtedly Ivan; he recognized the face and the voice from his dream. The question was how could Ivan be here, right now. Gilbert knew he couldn't be mistaken; he had seen the Russian man's corpse. And yet, he could feel the blood, very alive, coursing through the veins in the hands pressed against his own.

Ivan spoke in a low voice in his ear, "My dear doctor, you should be dead or in a cell by now and you know why." Gilbert started trying to resist against the hold, struggling to break himself free. It failed completely as Ivan's hands tightened, vice-like, on his wrists. The pressure was so intense that Gilbert could feel the bones of his wrists being pressed together. Ivan continued to talk, holding the knifes steadily to the German's throat, "The harder you fight, the more it hurts. Now look at yourself." Gilbert immediately felt his chin forced back to facing the mirror, he had been looking away in an attempt to get a good at Ivan. In the mirror he could see himself, trapped like a rabbit with Ivan smiling behind him.

Gilbert tried to say something, but even as he opened his mouth the words got caught in his throat. He felt like he was choking on them. A smirk appeared on Ivan's face, "and no back talk. For once, you're going to listen instead." Now that he was certain he had complete control, the Russian slowly, smoothly moved the blade from the porcelain throat to the front of the button-up shirt. In one swift motion, he cut the tie and all the buttons off. The front of his shirt fell open, exposing Gilbert's pale chest. Ivan spoke again, his lips almost touching the shell of Gilbert's ear, "How did those fools who liberated the camp not know what you were? The evidence is right here" He used the knife to slice all the way up the left sleeve, revealing the arm and a very clear tattoo on the underside of the upper arm that simply said, "AB".

They both knew what that tattoo meant and this is what Ivan addressed, "One tattoo to speak to all the horror you were a part of. Maybe it should be a little _clearer._" He pressed one finger to the tattoo. Pain seared through Gilbert at once, blinding and sharp. It felt like his skin was burning, all of it at once. There was no way to silence the scream that ripped its way out of his throat. With his eyes nearly closed against the pain, all he could see in the mirror was dark shapes moving over his skin, turning the entire white surface black. The pain intensified as they moved farther over his body. Gilbert could hardly pull in a single breath, it felt as though his lungs had seized. He couldn't move and couldn't look away; he could only scream in agony.

After what felt like an eternity, Ivan took his finger off the tattoo. The pain stopped at once, which allowed Gilbert to open his eyes and finally see what Ivan's touch had done to him. His skin was now covered in tattoos, swastikas, SS bolts, and iron crosses. They covered his chest and his arms, stopping at his collarbone. These would be impossible to conceal, and even harder to explain away. Ivan's knife seemed to have disappeared, and now the hand was free. Ivan ran it slowly over the tattooed chest, which was apparently now very sensitive. Gilbert was able to bite his lip to keep from whining. Ivan's voice was in his ear again, "Do you like them? I think they suit you."

He was able to growl in response, but he still couldn't move. Ivan smirked again, "Oh you are angry. There is so much you would like to do to me right now isn't there? Too bad. I'm going to do what I want to you." He finally released Gilbert's hands and moved both of his hands to the albino's shoulders. With incredible speed, Ivan used his hands to throw him across the room onto the bed. The force of the throw had knocked all the air out of Gilbert's lungs. He attempted to push himself back up, but Ivan appeared on top of him. Gilbert looked up directly into Ivan's violet eyes, which were not angry or vengeful. Instead, the eyes reflected a strange kind of tenderness. He was finally able to speak, "Ivan, why have you decided to come back and torment me?" The Russian smiled, almost sweetly, "Because I want to bring you back where you belong." He leaned forward and kissed Gilbert lightly on the lips.

* * *

Gilbert jerked awake and heard a pounding on the door. He put his hand to his face. The second part of the dream had felt more staggeringly real than the first. It was almost like he could taste Ivan's lips again. But rationally he knew he had not tasted those Russian lips in more than a decade. He knew it had been a dream, but he had to check. He unbuttoned his shirt and looked down at his chest. The skin was completely blank. He had no tattoos that he could see. He sighed.

He knew why these dreams were coming now: It was because of that serial killer that looked exactly like Ivan. That face had brought up too many unpleasant memories and now they were manifesting themselves as nightmares. The solution to this was simple Gilbert just needed to stay away from that patient, with no stimulus, his overactive imagination would have nothing to feed off of. He got off the bed and decided he should answer the door, which was still being knocked on. First, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He must not have moved in his sleep, because everything he was wearing was in perfect order. That, at least was a relief; he wouldn't have to explain anything.

Then, certain that nothing was out of place, Gilbert walked out of the bedroom and to the door. When he pulled the door open, he saw Antonio standing just on the other side. The other spoke, "I have been knocking on your door for the past 10 minutes, did you not hear me?" Gilbert shook his head slowly in response, "I dozed off, I'm sorry. I thought you had no need for me."

Antonio sighed in response, "I was trying to talk to our new serial killer. He refuses to speak to anyone but you." The albino's heart jumped into his throat. This was exactly what he didn't want to hear. He responded, "Do we have to give him what he wants?" The other nodded, "I'm afraid we do. We need to make a recommendation to the court. I am putting him on your caseload. I'll take one of your other cases myself." He extended a file to Gilbert, "This is his file. Read it over. You'll talk to him this afternoon." Gilbert swallowed his objections and nodded. He knew this was the worst possible situation for him, but he couldn't object without an explanation. He simply took the file obediently and closed the door as Antonio left.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred wiggled the handle on the door but it wouldn't budge. It was apparently still locked, but Alfred had a set of keys that should work. The door itself was faded and peeling in patches, but apparently the lock was still in perfect condition. He took out the key that Arthur had told him was a skeleton key. It had apparently been one of the last copies made by the previous owner. He slipped it into the lock and the door made a sickening click. He grabbed the handle and the outer coating of gold came off in flakes on his hands. Cold air rushed out of the room as the door swung open and it smelled strongly of mildew and another scent that Alfred could not quite place. It reminded him strangely of a trip he had taken with his father to Yellowstone. He waited for the door to swing all the way open before taking a step forward to look into the room.

Light filled the room coming from a set of windows on the opposite side. It looked as though they had once been covered by a set of red velvet curtains, one of which was hanging limply from the curtain rod, mostly eaten by moths. The other one seemed to be missing entirely. There was a large mirror in this room over a set of drawers, which was covered in a thick layer of dust that appeared in this light to be almost yellow. Alfred felt a mischievous instinct rise in his chest. He was supposed to be cleaning this room out in order to restore it, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun first. He walked over to the mirror and, with one gloved finger drew a smiley face in the dust. He looked at it for a second with juvenile joy. If not for the ventilator, his smile would have been obvious.

Suddenly he felt a force push him backwards. It strangely felt like a pair of hands had been on his shoulder. A quick breathe of air swirled around him, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It seemed to carry a voice on it that said, "Don't touch my things!" As quickly as it had appeared, the wind disappeared and Alfred was left standing there, staring as the mirror, which had suddenly and inexplicably been wiped clean.

In it, Alfred saw a pair of ruby red eyes reflected back at him. He looked behind him to see what it was reflecting, but saw nothing but a small bedroom. The sight of the bedroom at least explained where the other curtain had gone. It was draped across the end of a sagging bed. But, the red curtain still didn't explain the red eyes he had seen in the mirror. Alfred turned back around to face the mirror and saw that one of the drawers had jumped open. He walked forward to look in the drawer. There was a single wooden cross laying there, broken down the middle.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't right, he could just feel it. There shouldn't be strange things hidden here; these had been the quarters of a doctor. It all felt very wrong and he couldn't place why. He turned back to the door, which was slowly swinging closed even though there was no wind. The backside of the door was peeling just as the outside was, but there was also a set of very deep scratches that looked too high to be made by any animal.

It clicked closed and Alfred felt immediately like he was trapped. It was a strange feeling, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. He ran forward and attempted to open the door, but the handle was immobile. Alfred's heart began to race as he realized he was actually trapped in a room where there was very little oxygen. He could hear the forced breaths being sucked through the ventilator. He began to see spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Arthur's voice came from the other side of the door, "Alfred, get your arse down here and give me a hand with this." The handle of the door gave way and the door swung open. Alfred scrambled out of the room and onto the landing. Arthur was standing in the middle of the bloodstain below, yelling up at him. Alfred steadied himself before descending the stairs, while trying to convince himself that it had all been his imagination.

* * *

Gilbert opened the door to the room. The man who looked so very much like Ivan was sitting at a table drumming his fingers on the surface. The man, whose name was also Ivan according to the file, looked remarkably comfortable considering he was virtually a prisoner. When the door creaked open, Ivan turned and looked with a smile, "It's very poor manners to put a man to sleep and to not be there when he wakes up."

Gilbert didn't respond, instead he walked over to the other chair and sat down. He put the file down on the table and said, "Ten people murdered in one night, that's impressive. Why did you do it?" Ivan had carefully watched the other sit down before he said, "I could tell you the truth, but if you judge me sane, I go back to the courts and they can put me to death. One execution is enough for any man."

Gilbert's blood froze again for the third time that night. His hand faltered on the pen he had just taken out to make notes. Ivan leaned forward slightly with a smirk, "But, I don't think you will believe my little story anyway. So, the reason I did it was so that I could get locked up here, with you. So I could be sitting here staring into those red eyes of yours." Gilbert felt a sense of revulsion rise in his throat. No one would have known he would be coming here, let alone with close enough timing to be here on the night he arrived. It must be a lie. That was the only explanation.

Gilbert said, keeping his voice low, "Tell me why you feel the need to lie. You couldn't have known I would be here. I'm just something your psyche latched onto." Ivan laughed and leaned back. The laughter made Gilbert's heart start to thunder, it sounded too much like a laugh he remembered hearing after the words, "That little experience wasn't exactly consistent with Nazi ideology, was it?"

At least this man didn't have the same gorgeous accent as his Ivan. The serial killer leaned forward again and said, "Oh very logical, doctor, very logical indeed. I'm insane, isn't that what the Spaniard told you? I'm not lying, you're just not ready to see the truth yet." There was very little real passion in the voice, but there was amusement. And something else was hidden just below the surface of the voice, but Gilbert couldn't place what it is. Ivan continued, "You also shouldn't hush your voice like that to hide your accent. It's a lovely accent, and I would hate to miss it."

Gilbert responded by intentionally muting his accent further and saying, "So you have an accent fetish?" Again, the serial killer laughed, "It is possible. But, you certainly have one, da?" At the end of his sentence, he shifted his voice so that he suddenly had a heavy Russian accent. In outrage, Gilbert stood up before he could control himself. A single sentence slipped in rage between his lips, "Don't pretend you know me!" Because he spoke so quickly and loudly, his voice came out very heavily accented. Which only made the other man smile. He looked at Gilbert as though something was happening according to his plan. He spoke again, "That's more like it, let it out. I know you better than you think, better than you know yourself."

Gilbert realized how unprofessional it was to be this out of control and hurriedly sat back down. Ivan was smiling again manically. The albino tried to straighten his tie, which gave him a sense of calm. He said, in an attempt to regain normality, "You're delusional and with therapy you will see that. You don't know anything about me; you're just making lucky guesses." The other looked as though he had been slapped. For the first time since Gilbert had entered the room, the smile slipped from the man's face.

Gilbert finished a short set of notes and swept them up into the file, which he removed from the table. He stood up and turned to leave the room, quite convinced that there was nothing left to discuss in this session. He was almost at the door when Ivan spoke again, "Would it be a lucky guess to say that you had a one night stand with a Soviet officer in Warsaw the night after the city fell? Would I be too far off the mark to say that it was one of the best nights you've ever had?"

Gilbert had a hard time even comprehending the words. An experience he had never told another living soul about was being relayed back to him and it was perfectly accurate. He slowly turned around to look at the serial killer again. His lips felt like they had become both dry and cold. He didn't even feel them move as he said, "You can't know that." Ivan smirked, which made Gilbert's already chilled blood move sluggishly through his veins, "But I do know it. You better leave before I expose you any more. Your superior is just outside of that door and he wants to talk to you about me."

Gilbert, completely unnerved, turned and left the room without another word. Exactly as Ivan had said, Antonio was standing just outside of the door pacing nervously. When the German emerged, he immediately said, "How'd it go? Is he opening up to you?" Gilbert took a deep breath and said in response, "Well, he's certainly not sane. I think he functions by fixation. He becomes obsessive over people before killing them. That is at least my initial analysis of him. As for his modus operandi beyond that, I can't be sure." Antonio nodded, but still looked unsure.

He started to walk slowly down the hallway and Gilbert fell in step. The Spaniard spoke carefully, "You seem to have insight into him, which could be invaluable in dealing with him. You will have a few more sessions with him before we talk to the courts, and if we keep him here you will deal directly with him." Gilbert stopped walking at once. He couldn't stand the thought of being under the scrutiny of those violet eyes, which seemed to know far too mush about him. Not only did that man look far too much like the Soviet officer that Gilbert had known, he seemed to know about the entirety of the situation. None of it made sense, but it filled him with a strange sense of fear. He couldn't stand one more session, let alone a couple more sessions.

Antonio turned when the other stopped and said, "Is there an issue with that, Dr. Beilschmidt?" Gilbert looked directly at the others eyes and said, "Well, from what I can tell I have become, in a short period of time, his new fixation. To allow me to continue to see him would only intensify his burgeoning affection for me." Antonio rubbed his forehead in an agitated manner and sighed. He looked as though he was trying to come up with a compromise. However, when this seemed to fail he sighed heavily again, "I'm sorry, Gilbert, but I can't get anyone else to talk to him. It has to be you, no matter the consequences. I don't want to intentionally put you in danger, but I need answers about him. Just keep his advances at bay as best as you can for as long as you can. For now, come to dinner with me and the twins, I promise you'll enjoy yourself and forget about your big, psychotic, problem for a little while."

Gilbert nodded and decided to not argue. It would be a nice respite to have dinner with someone civilized. It would also allow him a way to not go back to his room and fall into another terrifying nightmare. This was also time he could use to get to know his colleagues. If he knew them personally, he would also know who to guard himself against. Trust was not easily given when one was hiding such a massive secret. Gilbert already knew that he shouldn't drink tonight, because alcohol might impair his self-control.

He followed Antonio through the hallways until they reached another pair of wooden doors, which the older man pulled open. The room contained several glass fronted cabinets filled with a variety of plates and wine glasses. The middle of the room was filled with an old wooden table, which was in immaculate condition. Around it was a set of matching chairs. Antonio waved his hand around and said, "This room was a dining room when this house was privately owned, after the last owner sold it to us, we decided to keep this room for the enjoyment of the senior staff. Feel free to sit down, the twins will be here soon."

Gilbert spoke, "Well, I will wait for the others to show up." Suddenly the door at the other side of the room opened and both of the twins came through it. There was something about seeing twins together that made Gilbert's stomach turn. Twins had always been some of the first to be pulled away from their family. The doctor he had served under had had a special fascination with twins. Seeing these two brought back a set of memories that Gilbert would rather not revisit. The sudden rush of memories confirmed his decision to not drink tonight.

Antonio walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle and was reaching for four glasses. One of the twins walked over to the cabinet and quickly took the bottle from Antonio, muttering as he did so, "You're trying to carry too much at once, idiot." Antonio smiled slightly and responded, "Thank you, Lovi." Gilbert barely heard the exchange, but he did perceive tenderness in it. He glanced over at Feli, who was smiling absent-mindedly at apparently nothing. Antonio walked over to the table and put down four crystal glasses. Lovino followed behind him and put down an amber bottle. Antonio pulled the top off the bottle with one hand and poured equal amounts of a light amber liquid into each glass. Lovino picked up two of the glasses. He carried them over to his brother and extended one to him. Antonio picked up the other two glasses and walked around so that he was standing next to Gilbert.

He handed the albino the glass, but his eyes were fixed on Lovino. Feli had wrapped one arm around his brother in a kind of half-hug. Antonio said, half to himself and half to Gilbert, "Aren't they precious?" The albino turned slightly so he could get a better look at the other's face. Antonio had an almost predatory smirk on his face. Gilbert tried not to judge it, but the twins appeared to be at least 10 years younger than Antonio. There was also something vaguely sickening about the fact that Antonio appeared to be more excited by both twins together than just one alone. The albino shook it off, since his ability to analyze people tended to get out of control. He certainly shouldn't be trying to find fault with his superior.

He took the glass from Antonio and carefully raised the glass to his face. He could smell the alcohol volatilizing and part of his brain registered that it was cognac. He swirled the liquid in the cup, but didn't take a drink of it. This was hard liquor, and it wouldn't take much to make him reckless. Antonio sat at the head of the table and Lovino sat on his right side. The other twin sat next to his brother. Gilbert took the seat directly to the left of Antonio, but did so warily, there was something in the situation that made him feel uncomfortable.

The initial conversation was light and mostly consisted of banter that Gilbert could easily ignore. They were in the middle of the main course when Lovino turned to him and asked, somewhat pointedly, "So, you're German, right? That means you must have had experience with Nazis." Gilbert quickly swallowed the bite of food he was eating and looked up at the brunette, who was looking right at him. Antonio sighed in an exasperated manner and said, "Lovi, you can't just bring things like that up." The boy completely ignored him and kept his eyes trained on Gilbert.

The German finally responded, "I was young, but yes I did." He kept his response short in order to keep himself from saying anything that would give the truth away. He also felt a rising sense of agitation, between the dream, the patient's strange insight, and now this conversation, all that seemed to come up today was his Nazi connections. Lovino leaned forward and said, completely serious, "So, what are the most damned people on Earth like?" Gilbert immediately recoiled, defensive. The boy had no way of knowing what he was really asking. Thankfully Antonio intervened and said, "Lovi! That's completely inappropriate!" He quickly turned to Gilbert, whose mouth had gone strangely dry, "You don't have to answer that."

The albino responded to Antonio, "I didn't intend to. But, I will say this: people are people; only very few are actually monsters. The rest just follow orders and that's all." With that, the table lapsed into prickly silence. However tense the silence may be, Gilbert much preferred it to the conversation. However, whenever he looked up he could still see Lovino glaring at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Antonio walked Gilbert back to his room, talking incessantly as he did so. It had become quite clear through the course of the evening that Antonio was the type of man who liked to talk about himself when he got drunk. This was perfect for Gilbert, because it required him to give up nothing about himself while he gained information about the other person. The Spaniard was in the middle of telling the story of his childhood, "So, when I told my father that I wanted to leave Madrid to go to America, he said to me, 'Join the church, these are Godless times and American souls need saving.' As the eldest son, naturally I had to be obedient."

At this point, they had reached the door to Gilbert's room. The German couldn't stop himself, the fascination with the inconsistency in the story was too great, "But you're a doctor, not a priest." Antonio smiled drunkenly and responded, "Ah, well, how I got here is an interesting story, but I should let you go to sleep. I will tell you it some other time." His green eyes glittered when he looked into Gilbert's eyes again, and he reached out in an uncoordinated way and took a hold of one of the German's hand. He said, "Don't be mad at Lovi about what he said. He's still young and he's not used to holding back his words." Gilbert noticed that Antonio's thumb was moving across the back of his hand in soft strokes. It was a gesture that spoke volumes.

Thinking about the nightmares he had the last time he had fallen asleep, he fleetingly considered inviting Antonio in. It would keep him awake longer at any case. Antonio was older than him, but he was vibrant and attractive. Gilbert looked at the other for a couple seconds, trying to convince himself that he wanted to invite the other to bed. He couldn't do it, so he pulled his hand away and said, "I would like to sleep now. I will see you tomorrow." He pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door behind him, and turned the knob. As Gilbert turned to walk into his room, the Spaniard said, "Gil-" The German turned back around and looked at the other. Antonio seemed to struggle with his words and finally said, "Sleep well" and then he walked away down the hall. Gilbert quickly closed his door.

The room inside looked very much the same as it had, except that there was a bottle and a single glass sitting on one of the tables. The bottle was unlabeled and filled with a clear liquid. Gilbert walked over and uncapped the bottle in an attempt to figure out what was in the bottle. He should probably be wondering about where this came from, but it didn't bother him. The scent coming out of the bottle was light and crisp and familiar. He picked up the bottle and poured the vodka into the glass. He had gained an appreciation for the alcohol when he had been serving, and it also reminded him of the taste of his doomed affair. He took a drink from the glass and walked over to the bed. The alcohol burned the back of his throat, but it was a good pain. He felt extraordinarily unrested by his unintentional midday nap.

However, he dreaded the idea of falling asleep again. He started to undo his tie and the buttons of his shirt. As much as he wanted to avoid sleep, it was impossible. He drained the glass of vodka, hoping that the alcohol would bring him a dreamless sleep. He put down the glass and reluctantly lay down in bed. As soon as his eyes closed, he fell asleep.

* * *

Gilbert listened to the fading sounds with a familiar sense of sinking dread. The crisp autumn breeze swirled around him, chilling him. He looked down at his watch and waited for the prescribed number of minutes. He wished that the second hand would slow and stop, just to postpone the inevitable. He knew what was coming next, it was his duty, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. He turned to the assistant who had dropped the pellets into the chamber. The man was staring at the ground below his feet with a look of shock, his mouth slighty open. Gilbert said shortly, "It is time." The other nodded.

Gilbert walked down to the entrance, feeling the sense of dread rising still higher in his throat with every step he took, it tasted of bile. When he unlocked the door, he held his breath as the air seal broke. The air that rushed out of the chamber burned the inside of his nose and smelled of death and decay. He looked over at his assistant, who was covering his nose with a handkerchief. He spoke softly, "Why do we have to do this?" Gilbert adopted the most formal tone he could and said, "It's law: a doctor must confirm death in all executions." The full length of the building was laid out in front of them. He braced himself and started to walk down the center of the building, looking at the piles of bodies on either side. This was not the first time he had done this, but the twisting in his gut was still there. He refused to touch any of the corpses; a simple glance was enough to affirm death.

The eyes in the emaciated faces were rolled back so the entirety of the eyes appeared white, the mouths were hanging open in futile screams. When a part of a corpse got in the way of his path, he nudged it out of the way with the toe of his boot. He turned to the other living person in the room, who was still holding a handkerchief to his nose. Gilbert noted that this must be a fairly new recruit that hadn't yet learned to compartmentalize. He said, "They are all dead, go get the crew to clean out the bodies."

The man turned and practically ran out of the chamber. When he passed through the door, it slammed shut. Gilbert gasped as soon as the door closed. These chambers were meant to be unable to be opened from the inside. The door shouldn't have closed like that; it made no sense. Panic started to surge through him. His heart palpitated in his chest and his breath came out in shallow quick gasps. He knew he was trapped, but he didn't want to believe it. He walked quickly towards the door, but as he took the first step, something caught his ankle and he fell forward. His chin scrapped against the cement floor, causing it to bleed. Confused, he turned to look for what he had tripped on.

A single pale hand was wrapped around his ankle. The hand was attached to one of the corpses, which was now looking at him with blank dead eyes. Its gaping mouth moved and formed a single word, "Guilty." The voice no longer sounded human; it sounded like wind moving through dry leaves. A scream ripped out of Gilbert's throat. In panic, he kicked out with his other foot. His boot hit the corpse in the face. The scanty flesh was surprisingly soft. The bones made a sickening snap as the neck broke to the side. The hand released him and he pulled himself back up to his feet.

As soon as he got to his feet, he started running full tilt towards the door. He tried not to look to either side of him. He could hear the collective groan of the bodies around him starting to move. The sound of bones scrapping along the cement floor sent chills shooting down his spine. He didn't make it very far before both of his feet were pulled out from under him. Only a quick movement of his arms protected his face slamming into the ground again. He turned to look already knowing what he was going to see. Both of his ankles were in the grasps of another set of corpses. Their mouths moved in unison again speaking a single word, "Guilty." Gilbert tried to pull away, but it was impossible; the dead fingers only tightened like a vice.

When he looked around in either direction, the piles of bodies on either side were moving and hundreds of sets of dead eyes looked at him. He was flipped over onto his back by dozens of bony hands. The word "Guilty" rose around him in a litany of hundreds of voices. On either side of him, hands grabbed his wrists and held him down. He looked up at the blue painted ceiling and felt the pain of bones digging into his skin. One of the reanimated corpses climbed on top of him. The weight on his chest was surprisingly little. He looked up into the dead face and couldn't even muster a scream. The bony hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look directly into those milky dead eyes. The corpse opened its mouth and exhaled gas. He tried to hold his breath, but that only kept him safe for a couple moments. When he could no longer hold his breath, he was forced to suck in a breath of toxic air. Gilbert choked and coughed, but he couldn't pull himself away. The hold on all four of his limbs was too strong. As the gas filled his lungs, he feebly jerked under the hold of the dead. His vision faded to black and all of his movement stopped.

Gilbert opened his eyes and felt a profound relief in finding himself back in his bed. In the years since the war ended, he had never had nightmares like this. Guilt had never occurred to him. Now it was flaring up in these strange nightmares. He decided that the best thing to do was to drown himself in alcohol so that he would pass out and rest without dreaming. He pulled off his blankets and walked back over to the bottle, carrying his glass over with him. However, there was another glass sitting next to the bottle already, as though another person was expected. Gilbert walked over to it and contemplated it.

A familiar voice spoke right behind him, "Pour me a glass, Gil. It's been a while since I had a drink." Gilbert looked around slowly and saw Ivan sitting on his bed; splendid in the uniform he wore on the night they spent together. The sight was enough for his to inhale sharply, cursing this for being another dream. It seemed that the cycle of dreams was so dizzying that it was starting to obscure reality. Gilbert put down the glass he was holding next to the bottle and looked back up at Ivan and said, "When I wake up in the morning, this will be back over on that table. This is just a dream and you aren't here."

Ivan started to laugh and said, "Do you really think this is just a dream? Look at your wrists." Gilbert pulled back his sleeve with no expectation of seeing anything. There were red marks around his wrist that looked as though they had been formed by bony hands wrapped around his wrist. These welts shouldn't have existed, but it was not definitive that they did. If this was a dream, then these marks were hallucinations. He looked back at the other and said, attempting to stay firm, "Nice trick. This convinces me of nothing." Again, the Russian laughed, apparently unperturbed, "Then, I will have to convince you."

He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. Gilbert was immediately thrown backwards by an unseen force and he slammed against the wall. He felt a single hand close around his throat. The Russian had materialized just in front of him with one hand around his throat. He looked straight into Ivan's endless violet eyes and saw a manic fire. Ivan spoke, his voice deeper and stronger, "Does this pain feel real to you?" The answer was already clear; Gilbert could feel the fingers closing on his neck and the pain burned through his skin. The pain was more than real, it was inordinate and agonizing. It raced through every nerve in his body. He nodded slowly, but it didn't seem to satisfy Ivan. The grip tightened, "But you don't accept yet. You don't believe this is real." He leaned farther forward and spoke softly in Gilbert's ear, "I need you to believe for me, but I have time." Gilbert's vision started to fade to black. As he lapsed into unconsciousness, he heard Ivan say, "I will see you when you wake in the morning."

Gilbert awoke not on the bed but asleep in the middle of the floor. The wooden floor beneath him was incredibly uncomfortable and he wondered how he had managed to sleep on it all night. He wasn't certain how he got there despite distinctly remembering falling asleep on the bed. He pulled himself back up to his feet, trying to ignore to pain in his back from sleeping on the floor. He felt like he hadn't slept all night. He knew he had from the nightmares, which apparently drained him of energy. As he looked around the room, he noticed that the bottle of vodka and one of the glasses were gone, but one glass remained sitting where Gilbert had placed it in his dream. That couldn't be possible and he knew it. Gilbert pulled back his sleeve with shaking hands to look at his wrist. Red marks curled across his white skin in the shape of thin fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

When Alfred met Arthur at the bottom of the stairs he said, "What do you need?" The other responded, "There is a table in one of the solitary rooms that needs to be moved. Come give me a hand with it." Alfred nodded, happy that something that made sense was happening. He followed his superior back through a series of hallways ending in a room. The door looked like it had been hit by a battering ram, the hinges were still attached to the frame, but only part of the wooden door remained.

They both walked into the room and Alfred stopped, dumbstruck. On the wall facing them looked like it had been burned, except for a giant symbol that was formed by the unburned wall, which seemed to consist of a series of lines forming a downward facing triangle. Alfred whistled and said, "This is so strange. How does something like this even happen?" Arthur's retort was quick and sharp, "It doesn't matter. We aren't here to investigate anything; we are just here to clean it all up. Now come give me a hand with this table." Alfred turned and looked at the table, which was a rather unremarkable reinforced table that could be either metal or a very dark wood, years of ware had made it impossible to tell for sure. Alfred grabbed one side and felt the firm slickness of metal beneath his hands. Arthur grabbed the other end and together they started to shift the table towards the door.

As it moved across the floor, it revealed another symbol. This was a star with a sword running straight through the center of it and a circle of what appeared to be runes surrounded the entirety of it. Alfred dropped the table and walked around to look at the symbol, which looked like it had been burned into the floor. Arthur swore when he was left holding the table by himself, "What the Hell are you doing?" Alfred extended his hand to Arthur, "Please tell me you still carry a pen and paper." The other said sharply, "I do, but what could you possibly want it for." Alfred kneeled down and ran his hand over one of the lines in the star. The markings were mystifying and he hadn't seen any of them in any other room. He said, keeping his hand extended, "Fire swept through this room, but left these marks. None of it makes sense. I just want to remember these after we scrub this room."

The other sighed and pulled out a small notepad and a pen, which he handed over to Alfred. He took the pad and feverishly scribbled down the marks. When he was done, he tucked the note pad into his pocket. Having used up all of his patience, Arthur said, "Are you quite done? We have actual work to do." The other nodded and stood back up. He walked back over to the table and picked up his end. They carefully urged the table through the hallways. As they did so, Alfred spoke, "Have you noticed anything strange?" The other responded, irritated, "You've been being an idiot, that seems pretty normal to me."

Alfred tried hard not to be stung by the comment, "I don't mean like that. I mean, things moving when they shouldn't, drafts of air in places where they shouldn't be." He made no mention of the voice he had heard or the eyes he had seen. Those were the least believable of what he had seen and he wasn't about to start sharing his crazy experiences. The older man shook his head, "I haven't seen anything of the sort. Have you been using your ventilator the whole time? It sounds like you've been breathing in fumes." They reached the front door and urged the table out of it, being careful not to trip on the dilapidated stairs. They got to the van and put down the table.

Alfred took off his ventilator and put it down on the table, "That is the first time I have taken that off. I'm not high." Arthur also took off his ventilator and put it down on the table as well. He ran his hand over his face and said, "Look, Alfred, I know you think you saw something, but this is an old dusty asylum, it has a lot of secrets we aren't supposed to know. I'm not going looking for skeletons in the closet and you shouldn't either." Something about the statement struck Alfred as off. He looked directly at his boss and said, "What are you not telling me? If you know something about this place, you should have told Matt and me before we started."

Arthur looked down and sighed, "I didn't want to scare you. The last owner was the head of the asylum and he died here. Conventional wisdom says that he was murdered by one of the patients, but there was no conclusive evidence. The asylum was closed after that and all the remaining patients were moved out. It's been standing vacant ever since. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." That answer didn't explain what Alfred had been seeing, but it did help. He had heard in some terrible cable horror movie that violent death generated ghosts, and a ghost would certainly explain some of the moving items.

Alfred looked around and saw a pair of boxes sitting next to the van. He pointed to them, "What are those?" He didn't wait for an answer; instead he walked over and looked down into them. One appeared to be full of files and the other was full of what appeared to be crystal glasses. Arthur responded, "Those are things I've taken out of different rooms. It looks like I'm the only one who has been doing any work today."

Alfred shrugged, perfectly aware of why he had not gotten anything done, "Well, I'm certain Mattie has gotten plenty done." Arthur looked directly at Alfred and there was something resembling concern in his eyes, "I haven't seen him for quite a while, have you?" The other immediately started to worry about his brother, considering what he had been seeing. He grabbed his ventilator and turned back to the building. He said as he did so, "I'm going to go find my brother."

* * *

Gilbert sat down as the table where breakfast was set up. The twins and Antonio were already sitting around the table. The entire ambiance was hushed, so Gilbert didn't say anything. He just started cutting into his breakfast. Antonio looked up and him and said quietly, "Do you feel alright, you look like you haven't slept." Gilbert looked surreptitiously down at his wrist to make sure that his sleeve was totally covering the marks on his wrist and then looked up at Antonio and said, "I'm fine, don't worry about it." Antonio didn't look away, but he didn't say anything.

Lovino broke the silence, apparently attempting to change the subject; "I was reading an interesting study last night. Apparently the human psyche can't imagine its own death. It is completely impossible for someone to dream their own death." Gilbert's fork and knife stopped moving. He had been dreaming himself dead the last two times he had fallen asleep. He said rather softly, "I don't believe that." Lovino looked over at him, "It makes sense though, since death can only be experienced one time." Gilbert put down his knife and fork; he suddenly felt completely unable to eat. The last thing he needed right now was someone else telling him that his dreams were reality.

He stood up and said, "I have a lot of work to do today. I'm going to go get started." When he stood up, Antonio did as well. He walked to the door and the Spaniard followed him. Antonio spoke in a soft voice, apparently not to be overheard, "I know you told me not to worry, but I am. If the transition is hard for you, please tell me. I want you to feel comfortable here."

He reached out for Gilbert's hand, but the other pulled away. With Ivan floating through his mind so often, he felt almost unfaithful letting Antonio touch him. He said evasively, "I'm still fine. If I really need something, you will be the first person I come to." That didn't seem to satisfy Antonio, who quickly said, "If this is about the Nazi comment, I told everyone to lay off the subject." Gilbert took a small step away from the other, "If you were serious about that, you would stop bringing it up." He left the room without allowing Antonio another word.

* * *

The woman across the table was running her hands through her long blonde hair in a way that was clearly manic. Her violet eyes were fixed on him in a way that seemed to carry suspicion. He opened her file and without actually looking at it said, "You've murdered six people, on the same day of the year every time. Why did you do that?" The woman glared at him and responded, "I did it because my master needed the souls to retake mortal form." The response was much more in line with what Gilbert had come to expect from the insane.

He followed the statement with a question so he could establish what kind of delusion he was dealing with, "And who is your master." She leaned forward as though about to reveal something secret and precious, "Lucifer, of course." Gilbert vaguely wondered if it was worrying that he found this kind of straightforward crazy comforting. This is what he had prepared for when he had taken this job, not doppelgangers who knew entirely too much about his past. Killing for the devil was blissfully nonsensical.

He responded, hiding all of his disbelief, "And when did Satan start appearing to you, Natalia?" She took one hand out of her hair and slammed it down on the table, "He isn't Satan; he's Lucifer. He is a beautiful fallen angel, not some horned beast." It seemed like a minute detail to Gilbert, but he obliged his patient anyway, "My mistake, when did Lucifer start appearing to you?"

She pulled one knee to her chest, but kept her eyes fixed on Gilbert, "The first time? A decade ago, my father was an important government official in Minsk. When the Nazis rolled through, he disappeared and none of us knew where he was. I was so scared, can you understand that?" She stopped and looked up at him with the round eyes of a child. Gilbert did a quick mental calculation. Natalia appeared to be in her early 20s, which meant that she hadn't even been a teenager at the time. It seemed that the fear had frozen her in the mental state of a child who was looking for a father figure. He responded, "Yes, I understand fear."

She continued to talk, "Then he appeared to me, black feathery wings and all. He said that if I was loyal to him, I would survive it all unharmed. He kept his promise, so I kept mine." He jotted down in his notes, "Delusion manifested from need for protective father figure. Identified as Lucifer, likely the result of a religious upbringing." He looked up at her and said, "So, has he been with you since then?"

She quickly shook her head and her eyes went wide, "No, of course not. When the war ended, he vanished. When he reappeared to me, he told me to defect to America, told me he would keep me safe. That's how I got here. When I arrived, he told me he needed sacrifices to be able to take a human form again." Gilbert waited for a pause and asked, "Why would he want to take human form?" He deemed it prudent to attack all the holes in the story to get the patient to question it herself.

However, she seemed to have an answer to this, "He had unfinished business." Gilbert pressed on the other issues with the story, "And why would he choose you?" She bristled, "Because I'm not just loyal to him, I love him. No one loves him the way I do!" Gilbert checked his watch; it had been far longer than he thought it had. He had planned another session with Ivan today, which he was not looking forward to. He couldn't spend much time here, which was fitting considering that it seemed he had hit a dead end.

He closed the file and said, "That will be all for today." She nodded and pulled her other knee to her chest. The position really made her look like a child, especially with her eyes so wide and innocent. He walked out of the room and started mentally bracing himself for the next session. As he walked between the rooms, he resolved not to lose his temper this time no matter what Ivan said to him. As he reached the door, one of the orderlies said, "You might want to be careful, he has been irritable all morning." Gilbert shrugged it off, but his heart began to thunder in his chest. He didn't want to see Ivan in a good mood, but a bad mood was even worse.

He summoned all his courage and took a hold of the door handle. The orderly said, "If you need help, just give the word and you can have 4 people restraining him within a minute." Gilbert nodded and wondered what horror he was about to walk in on. He entered the room with his hands only shaking slightly. The patient was standing next to the window looking out. Gilbert cleared his throat, but Ivan didn't turn toward him. Instead, he spoke towards the window, "I had hoped it would be you. I couldn't stand the sight of that Spaniard right now."

Gilbert sat down and said, "Why is that?" Ivan finally turned around and said, his eyes full of cold fire, "Because he's getting very interested for only having known you for a day or two. How dare he try to hold your hand?" He walked over and sat down, "I should kill him for that." He looked up and apparently caught sight of the stricken look on Gilbert's face. He immediately said, "I don't blame you for that though. You've been pushing him away, as you should."

Gilbert's mind was reeling. A patient that had been confined to a cell for days shouldn't know anything about what was going on between the staff. The reaction also showed exactly what Gilbert had feared. Ivan had already formed an unhealthy imagined bond with him. He was already imagining that it was his role to be protective over Gilbert. The albino tried to keep his shock under control, so he took out a pack of cigarettes. He wouldn't usually offer his patients cigarettes, but Ivan was in desperate need of something to calm him down. He extended the pack to Ivan wordlessly, but the other read the gesture correctly. Ivan took a cigarette and said, "You're going to have to light it for me; they don't let me have matches. I think they think I'm going to set this room on fire."

Gilbert pulled a cigarette out of the pack for himself and then pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. He removed one match and struck it on the table. He extended his hand, but he couldn't reach all the way across the table. He leaned as far forward as he dared and Ivan leaned forward farther than strictly necessary. The flame licked the end of his cigarette, but Gilbert found him looking at the other's face, especially his eyes. In this light they looked almost supernaturally violet. The fire of the match danced over different variations of blue and violet. It was entrancing, just like it had been that night in Warsaw.

Ivan saw him looking and smirked. He reached across the table and put his hand on Gilbert's face. The albino knew he should have recoiled, but he couldn't bring himself to. There was something warm, even comforting about this contact, he found himself wanting to stay right here and not move for a very long time. A searing pain shot through his hand and he immediately reacted. The match had burned all the way down and the flame had burned his fingers. He swore and dropped what was left of the match. It went out on the table.

Gilbert leaned back, away from Ivan and the other slowly did the same. Gilbert quickly lit his own cigarette and tried to figure out why that simple touch made him feel more at peace than he had in at least a decade, if not more. He said, attempting to actually start the session, "So, are you ready to tell me your motive yet?" Ivan responded at once, "I told you the truth the first time. I am here for you." Gilbert shook his head slightly, "No you're not. You didn't kill for me." Ivan took a pull from the cigarette and breathed out the smoke in one cloud. He looked at the cigarette with amusement and said, "I've always liked these. They taste like damnation."

Then, he looked back up at Gilbert, "How about this: we trade answers. I told you why I killed; now you tell me why you did. Tell me how you justified killing thousands." Gilbert immediately recoiled. He didn't want to have to talk about his deeds to anyone, let alone to a serial killer who would take every piece of information as something intimate. He refused to answer and went quiet. Ivan wasn't perturbed, "You are a very poor sport. I'll tell you something: You are more like me than you are like any of them." He gestured at the door, as though referring to the entire world outside.

He continued as he placed his cigarette back between his lips, "And I'll tell you why: You and I have both tasted the thrill of killing. We have both watched as the light slips out of a human's eyes." Gilbert wondered if he was ever going to have control over these sessions. He felt his temper rising again, but he kept himself silent. He knew if he even parted his lips, he would start spewing out his anger.

It still didn't seem to bother Ivan, "If they knew what I know, you would be sitting where I am." Gilbert finally summoned the self-control to respond, "Do you think you could gain something by telling?" Ivan started to laugh, "Come now, you know I'm not that much of an idiot. I wouldn't presume to blackmail you, even if someone would believe me. If I came forward saying you were a Nazi, you would simply say that it was a delusion meant to villianize you based on my traumatic experiences during my formative years. Maybe you would even throw in something about how many relatives I lost at Leningrad."

He stopped to take another pull from the cigarette before continuing, "No, my dear doctor, I have no intention of telling anyone. I just want you to understand, to believe, that we are the same. Maybe you are even more guilty than I am." A single word in the sentence sent chills shooting down Gilbert's spine. He was immediately overcome by a wave of nausea as visions of reanimated corpses and bloody quicksand. All the blood drained out of face and he had to make a conscious effort to not pass out. He simply said, "That word…"

Ivan smiled in a way that looked like it was meant to mock innocence, "Which one?" Gilbert sighed and cradled his head in hand, "Why couldn't you just say you're working for the devil?" He was mentally and emotionally too exhausted to deal with this onslaught. He was already sorry for leaving Natalia for this confusing emotional ride. Ivan responded to the rhetorical question, "Ah, so you've met Natalia. She's a sweet girl."

Gilbert's attention was immediately caught, "You can't have met her yet. You haven't been out of this room." Ivan took another long pull before answering with a smile, "It depends on what you mean by 'met'" Gilbert shook his head, he was sick of the word games and the riddles. He stood up and turned toward the door. Ivan spoke one more time, "Oh and Gil-" Gilbert snapped back before he could calm himself, "What?" He turned to look back at Ivan, who was sitting back in his chair, relaxed. The smoke from the cigarette was floating around his head in a way that almost made it look like a halo. He said with a smile, "Thank you for the little piece of damnation."


End file.
